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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24585457">Everything I Choose (will always be false)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_See_The_Stars_15/pseuds/I_See_The_Stars_15'>I_See_The_Stars_15</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Secrets Kept Close, Feelings Pushed Away [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword &amp; Shield | Pokemon Sword &amp; Shield Versions</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Gen, How Do I Tag, Jealousy, One Shot, Rivalry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:48:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,452</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24585457</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_See_The_Stars_15/pseuds/I_See_The_Stars_15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hop knew he was destined to be great, he just needs to convince himself that he's <em>enough</em>.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Secrets Kept Close, Feelings Pushed Away [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1775941</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Everything I Choose (will always be false)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title from 'Lost One's Weeping' translation by JubyPhonic, original by Neru</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The pictures haunt him, no matter where he goes. Every corner he is there, filling up another area of his cage. Every move he makes is done in the shadows, waiting, biding his time. He knows that time will soon come, where he can rise above his brother, where he can prove his worth to his mother, where he can prove to himself that he can be good enough, that he is good enough. He just wants his photo up on that wall, to show that he really did exist and left a mark on this world. This world has always been about his brother, always revolved around his skills and his abilities as a trainer. He was always forgotten; the second child, the lesser child, he’s known it all his life.</p><p>He loved his brother, once upon a time. Once looked up at him with adoration and longing and hope. How hopeful he was that he can be like his brother, that he can win like his brother had, and make his mother proud. He was a kid then, lost in the dark and desperately clutching onto his brother for safety. One day he learned to look up, dared to look up, and saw just how deep he was in his brother’s shadow, how it threatened to drown him and forget him. In his fear he clung on to the one thing blocking his path, and when he finally let go, he realized just how much of a fool he was.</p><p>Adoration turned to jealousy, and longing to envy. His hope to be like his brother warped to become a drive to be better. As each space of their home became home to his pictures, so did his heart become home to a hatred he never thought he would feel for his brother. He was always satisfied with waiting for his time, with waiting for his brother to come up and hoist him up, to help him be a champion like he was. He was satisfied with waiting until he wasn’t, and when he wasn’t satisfied he actively sought out that satisfaction.</p><p>He worked and worked and worked and worked. He learned to stand up on his own feet, no matter how wobbly his first steps were, and learned to jump. He was no longer content with being in the shadows. He wanted to be in the light, and so that’s what he set out to do.</p><p>When he received his first pokemon, it didn’t matter that people saw them as weak. It was always the underdogs that won in the stories his mother would whisper at night, and it was always the younger sibling who did what the older couldn’t. He knew he was destined for greatness, and he knew he would prove them all wrong. No matter their beliefs, no matter their words, he will win, and he will run to win.</p><p>(He was too busy running, he didn’t know that the ground beneath him was crumbling, and that the grass slowly wilted under his feet.)</p><p>He worked hard to make sure that people would stare at him like they would stare at his brother, and when he found someone who stared at him the way other trainers-to-be stared at the Champion, he found himself with pride knowing that, slowly, surely, he was on the right track. Declaring rivals, and being worthy of being someone’s rival was the start after all to being the best. All good stories start with conflict, and all good characters fight to be heard. His best friend turned rival had always been a staple in his life, the one person who saw him as a formidable foe when others would see him as nothing but a shadow. This person saw him as something more than his brother, and saw him for his own person, and it gave him the rush to fight on his worst days. He knows his pokemon are weak to his, yet he had no doubt he stood a fighting chance, not when he was treated for once in his life like he had a chance to win. He had other rivals, others like him who wanted to prove their worth and he thought that this was it, he would succeed at last.</p><p>(He ran without pause, even when his lungs threatened to collapse under the weight of his expectations, even when his feet felt like they were stuck in mud. It didn’t matter to him as much as the feeling of the wind in his hair, the sun in his eyes, and the overwhelming sense of pride that consumes him.)</p><p>He didn’t know when it started, when his dreams started fading in front of him, when his rose-tinted view of the world started bleeding away. One moment he stood on top of the world, the next his rivals were on peaks higher than him. One loss never bothered him, never swayed him from his goal but one loss led to another and another. His pokemon would faint and his best friend would go on to fight more battles, not sparing him a glance or a smile as he used to. They had the same badges, went the same road, fought the same trainers again and again and yet he was left running after him.</p><p>They shone brighter, and the shadow grew bigger, and he was no longer content with being a shadow. His best friend threatened to leave him behind, leave him alone as though he was lesser and he couldn’t handle the loneliness of being forgotten. He ran and chased after them, his friend and his rivals and his brother, reaching out only to return with empty words and broken promises of together. He ran and ran and ran, and when the chasm between them became too wide, when his legs were too short and his lungs too tight, he jumped.</p><p>He was never really close enough to reach the ledge. He jumped, he fell and he only noticed he was falling when his body hit earth again. He thought this whole time that when people turned their heads and stared with adoration they were staring at him. He thought the murmured praises were his, thought the kind smiles were his doing. When he dared to look up again, to meet their eyes he saw the truth that those were never his to claim. They never looked at him, only near him, only at his friend. Their eyes still pass over him like he was a shadow, like he was a ghost and he wanted nothing more than to prove that he wasn’t a shadow.</p><p>Even the other rivals got their places, became recognized throughout the region and had homecomings grand and festive. His homecoming was one of shame, of pity, of being forgotten. No one saw him as a trainer, no one saw him as a victor. He’s not sure if anyone even saw him in the first place. No, he was a wanderer, a parasite without a host to latch on to. He was beneath them, and it somehow hurt more this time around.</p><p>When he returned home, he expected to look at the photos on the wall and feel even more anger, feel more determined to bounce back and prove that he can succeed. He wanted to look at the photos and remember that his story wasn’t over, that he still had the second act to do.</p><p>Instead, he looked at the photos with broken eyes and a beaten stare. Where he once felt anger, he now felt nothing. The fire that drove him went out and he’s left feeling numb with cold. None of his photos were on the wall, but that didn’t hurt him as much anymore. What hurt him were the empty spaces in between, the gaps between one photo and the next. It glared at him and mocked him as though they were telling him there was always room for him on that wall. It only happens that he was never good enough to be there.</p><p>He wants to close his eyes and pretend for just a moment that he has a picture on that wall, but he never sees it happening, his own mind telling him not to dream the impossible. When he closes his eyes, all he sees is himself, staring back with broken eyes and beaten stares, empty in all ways. There was no point in hoping he can be something when there was nothing to be in the first place.</p><p>He ran but it wasn’t enough. He jumped but it wasn’t enough. He looked but it wasn’t enough.</p><p>He wanted to be, but he had never been enough.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you have any suggestions or comments, leave them below! I appreciate each and every ounce of support!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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